


Where the Fuck is my Shirt?

by trilliath



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Archangel - Freeform, BAMF, Die Slavers!, Gen, Missing Shirts, Not-Tequila, Things go BOOM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archangel and Vega take Omega</p><p>Earlier there was a prompt about pole-dancing Jimmy Vega. But I took a little bit of a different take on it than the other fills because in the initial comments on the prompt there were some additional suggestions, including;</p><p>
  <i>...Now I'm picturing Garrus, during his Archangel days, having stumbled across Vega's pole dancing stint in Afterlife.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>...Maybe they both drunkenly accidentally pick a fight with the same batch of asshats who are badmouthing Shepard and the Alliance and then, realizing they are both rad dudes, go on an awesomesauce rampage around Omega together... and then wake up naked in the same bed in the morning.</i>
</p><p>So here is a semi-prompted story that is basically about those suggestions, in which James can't find his shirt, there is some not-tequila, and a lot of slaver!batarians get Archangel'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Fuck is my Shirt?

"Hm. 'Jimmy Vega' sounds like a pole dancer from Omega." Garrus drawled with a low laugh. That one was rather witty, he thought. But James wasn't laughing.

He wondered briefly if that was particularly insulting to a human (wait, did he care? Nope). But then he realized the look on Vega's face wasn't anger. It was one of those other looks, like the one Shepard got before they were about to do something surprising or unpleasant. Or maybe that was confusion. It looked more like confusion for a second.   
No, now it was like when something embarrassing happened. Maybe.   
Spirits but Vega always made his face hard to read.

And that had something else itching in the back of Garrus's mind.  
It wasn't the first time he'd thought that about a human.   
No...  
It wasn't the first time he'd thought that about _this_ human. It had just been about two years ago.  
He jerked up from the railing he was leaning against.

And then the facial expression on Vega's countenance resolved itself very clearly into one which Garrus _did_ recognize. 

It was the one that said "Oh, _shit_!"

He knew that, because both of them said it.

________________________

 

James was drunk. He knew he was drunk, because somehow he was dancing. And not just dancing on the dance floor with a little shuffle step and grind, but dancing, without his shirt, up on one of the raised stripper platforms. He'd been dancing for a little while, he realized, based on how much he was shimmering with sweat. 

Just like tequila, the _pendejo_ of a bartender had told him.   
Bull. He could drink tequila all night and only get mildly happy. Now though, he was completely shitfaced. 

And then he realized the women with him had managed to slip his trousers over his hips.  
There were two dancers with him, giggling as they turned their attention to tugging at his underwear this time, trying to loosen them too. 

He stepped back, putting their hands gently off of him and yanking his trousers back up, buckling his belt firmly closed again.  
"Sorry ladies," he said as they pouted playfully and made Ooh-ing sounds of disappointment.

Not that he had anything against an asari trying to get into his pants, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to end up dancing naked in Afterlife. At least not if nobody was going to pay him. Probably.

He decided he had better get down from the platform before the dancers realized they could probably get their way if they just kept trying. He grabbed the pole next to him for stability, but there was no way around it, his landing jumping off the platform wasn't going to be particularly graceful.

He landed with a thump, and almost stuck it, but the tables below the dancers' platforms were always crowded just a bit too close, and his thigh jostled one as he stood, eliciting an angry cry from one of the batarians sitting there.

"Sorry," he said quickly, holding up his hands in a submissive gesture. He'd buy them a drink to replace the one he'd spilled. He might be hot-headed, but he knew when it was his own dumbass move that was messing things up. He could be a real gent about things when he tried.

"Humans," came the muttered reply.

See? He told himself. He wasn't even punching the guy or anything. Even though the batarian was struggling to his feet to block James's way past their table.

"Oh let it be, Karluk," one of the other batarians rumbled.

"No!" the guy said, jabbing a finger against James's bare chest. "This ape-dick nearly spilled my drink!"

James took a tight breath, lips compressed into a thin line. "I'll buy you another, pal. It was my bad."  
See how he wasn't punching him? His Abuela would be so proud. Even though they _were_ fucking _slavers_. He would be culturally respectful. Yes. Amazing self control. Though actually, now that he thought about it, he wasn't so sure Abuela would disapprove, considering that they _were_ slavers.

But Karluk seemed to find his offer acceptable, so he said "Shard wine," and sat roughly back in his chair. James nodded and started to make for the bar to send the order the table's way. Wait. Where was his shirt? Oh well, he thought, pushing into the crowd of dancers. He'd figure it out eventually.

Then, just before he was out of earshot, one of the other batarians said, "See Karluk? Not all humans are as bad as that Shepard cunt."

James jerked to a stop. Oh he did _NOT_ just hear that.

"Well, not the males anyway," another batarian laughed - a female from the sound of it.

Deep breaths. Come on James, deep breaths, he thought as club-goers danced around him or moved past him. There was a flicker of blue in his peripheral vision as he focused on trying to keep his fingers from clenching into fists.

"Yeah, Shepard might've been a _vorcha_ -fucking, honorless, murdering _whore_ , but at least she had balls," Karluk was saying.

Just as he was swinging around to return and go plant them each a facer, he heard a loud crash. When he got his head around, he saw a lethal looking turian gripping Karluk by the throat as he dragged him up out of his seat.

James cracked his knuckles. See Abuela? Totally not his fault. The hiss and murmur of the crowd swelled as people started attending to the first good fight of the night. A bubble of onlookers was swiftly forming around the corner of tables. Other uninvolved patrons fled their seats as gawkers pushed forward.

He moved back towards the batarians again, shoving between gawkers as gently as his beefy drunk self could manage. Just because he didn't start it didn't mean he couldn't get in a few good punches in the ensuing brawl. Shepard was one of his heroes and damned if he was going to let those batarian slavers get away with trashing her memory.  
Seriously, though. Where _was_ his fucking shirt?

The batarians were all scrambling to their feet in the narrow space around the tables. Chairs were kicked over as the turian gripped the man by the neck and pulled him close.

"What now, nothing else to say about her?" the turian said, voice low and twanging with subvocals fraught with sarcasm. "Please, keep talking about Shepard. Dig yourself in a little deeper so that I won't even have to feel a _little_ guilty for killing you."

"Hey!" one of the other batarians cried, grabbing for the turian. He didn't take his predatory gaze off of the batarian he was choking, he just struck out hard with a precise military-combatives claw-strike that had the other batarian howling and gripping his eyes, falling backwards into the table with another loud crash.

Niiice. James pushed closer, shoving between a last pair of gawkers and stumbling out into the gap of the bubble between the onlookers and the fray.

"Shepard. Was a. Varren. Cocksucking. Bitch." the batarian ground out. Sometimes people really didn't know what was best for them. Like shutting the fuck up.

James's blood went even hotter than before as he stepped into the melee, grabbing an advancing batarian by the neck in a chokehold.

"You know, she would probably get annoyed at me for this…" the turian said, almost to himself. The batarian in James's iron grip sagged, passing out. He let him fall to a heap on the ground and tossed a chair out of his way as he lunged for another batarian who was grabbing a pistol. 

"But then, she did always tell me to think for myself," the turian added.   
Then he crushed the batarian's throat, letting him fall to gasp ineffectually for air, suffocating on his own crumpled windpipe. Probably a lethal blow, considering immediate medical attention was scarce on Omega. 

James punched one of them that was getting a bead on the turian with her pistol, but he was too slow to stop one of the others. The turian was wearing armor, however, and the shots pinged more or less harmlessly off of him. James took the pistol from the disabled batarian and turned it on the other batarian who was shooting at the turian. 

Damn not-tequila was really making it hard to aim.

He got a shot off, but then the turian was flashing forward into his line of fire, striking out with lethal turian grace. Well, drunkenly leaning grace. The turian didn't quite seem steady, for all that his strikes were precise. James knew well enough that it was muscle memory precision more than conscious effort. Probably also why the punches weren't getting pulled like they maybe ought to be in your standard bar-fight, and batarian blood was quickly splattering nearby surfaces. He shoved the pistol in his waistband and stumbled forward to intercept a batarian who was trying to flank the turian. Then again, they _had_ called Shepard some pretty nasty names, so pulling punches was probably inappropriate anyhow.

James couldn't do anything quite so fancy as the swift arcing moves of the turian's long limbs, but he was pretty content with the quick jab and thrust he planted on another batarian.

He thanked himself for every one of those pushups when he took out his opponent with one final punch straight between his four eyes.

"Take that, _pendejo_!"

Then suddenly there was an armored forearm at his throat, dragging him around and slamming him against the wall. The bright blue of the turian's eyes glittered behind his visor, inches away from James's face. 

"Who the fuck are you?" the turian asked in a low voice. He could smell the sweet scent of booze on the turian's breath.

"Vega. Alliance," he added. The turian's eyes dipped to his bare chest, taking in the dog-tags beneath his hands. "Sorry if I cut in on your dance, but I also happen to have an objection to batarians badmouthing _her_ " he said.

"Hmm," the turian rumbled, easing back a little.

"Hey!" 

They both glanced back as a pair of turians and a batarian in full armor and carrying rifles moved into the bubble that had formed around the fight.

"Damnit. I swear you pull this shit just to make my life harder," one of the turians said under his breath as he motioned at the destruction with his rifle.

"What can I say, Gavorn? Just like to keep things interesting," the turian pressed against James said with a flick of mandibles.

"Aria would like you out. Now," the turian leading Aria's guys said, waving over the bouncers that had been waiting for the fight to finish or escalate to the point they were supposed to intervene.   
"She was unspecific as to how," he added, smirking at them.

Which was how they found themselves tossed, bodily into a tangled heap of human and turian limbs, out of Afterlife along with a bunch of unconscious or dead batarians.  
Normally wouldn't have been any big deal really. They would have just given each other the nod and wandered their separate ways and left the batarians rot in the little back corridor of Omega. Well, stumbled away. James was pretty sure the turian was about as drunk as he was.

But there had been something the turian said that intrigued him.  
"So. You knew Shepard?" he asked as he extricated himself from the turian's weight, sliding over a little on the deck with a little shake of his head, trying to get his bearings.

The turian glared at him, then tipped his head back against the dirty wall. "Yeah. Which means," the turian said in a rough voice, raising a finger to gesture aimlessly, "that the brandy isn't doing the trick."

Huh. That was an odd response. Probably. If James weren't so drunk he was sure it would probably mean something. 

"Well, nice meeting you," James said, using the wall as leverage to stand back up. "Always fun to-"

"What the fuck is this?" a deep voice boomed. 

They both glanced up to see another squad of batarian slavers looking down at them over the railing of the hallway. These ones had full armor, and guns. And some pretty fuckin' furious facial expressions. At least he thought so. They always looked kinda pissed to the marine.   
James, on the other hand, was armored with a bare chest and some tattoos. Not exactly good for defense. Well, that and a stolen pistol tucked in the back of his trousers where his shirt was supposed to be tucked in. Where _was_ his damn shirt?

"Shit," Vega said. The turian just growled.

When the batarians started lifting their rifles, James made a split-second decision. Probably more reckless than he ought to be, but the not-tequila was definitely not helping with any rational thought. He yanked the pistol out from his waistband and shot rapid-fire into the crowd of batarians clearly bent on murderous action causing an array of bellows and startled cries as they scrambled for cover.

"Come on!" the turian cried, grabbing his elbow and yanking him backwards around the curve of the hallway.  
The surprise had bought them a few seconds and they ran down the hallway like their lives depended on it. Which they pretty much did.

"This way," the turian growled, darting off into a smaller hallway.

"Shit," James hissed, overshooting and skidding to a halt as he went the wrong way and then jerked back the other direction - which promptly had him running into a stack of containers.

The turian snickered as James stumbled, but he grabbed the marine's arm and tugged him back onto trajectory darting down the back alley.

The angry shouts of batarians weren't far behind them, and they put on some extra speed to open the distance between them.   
James laughed low in his throat as they both skidded to a halt before entering the main road. 

Putting on the veneer of normal (as much as two thoroughly drunk and breathless men could) they eased into the hallway where various citizens were passing by, going about everyday business. Nobody would give a fuck about your business on Omega, but if you let on you were being chased, some of them would help out the pursuers just for the hell of it.

The turian led them across, keeping up their normal behavior for a few precious seconds as they slipped into another back alley. 

Then they bolted. 

They were both laughing by the time they slammed back against a wall around a corner behind the alley that jutted off from a path they'd probably lost the batarians on.

"God damn I hate those _puñeteros_ " Vega said, chest heaving. 

"Batarians?" the turian asked, turning narrowed eyes on him as he caught his own breath.

James shrugged, "Nah. Nothing against them particularly. But slavers? Yeah. Makes me sick."

"You've got that right." the turian replied, grimacing as he peeked around the corner to see if they'd been followed.

"Sometimes, when I'm on a station like this, I imagine I could go all infiltrator and sabotage one of their ships. Then I could free all their slaves and be out of port on my ship before they ever knew what hit 'em," James said, rubbing a knuckle against his bare solar plexus. 

Where was his _shirt_?

He twisted, trying to look over his thick shoulder to see if it was tucked somewhere in his waistband, but all he got was a dizzy glimpse of the appropriated pistol.

The turian turned a darkly pleased look on him, moving closer away from the corner with the excessive care that only someone drunk seemed to use.  
"Now there's an idea."

James glanced at him and snickered. "It only seems to make sense when I'm drunk though."

The turian raised a browplate at him, head tilted drunkenly against the wall as his mandibles flared in what might have been a grin. "Hey Vega. Guess what?"

James's eyes went wide, and then a slow grin spread across his face.  
"Oh shit."

_______________

When the coast was clear they hopped a taxi to Kima district, flying past shops shut for the night, walking down a dark hall till they reach a long bridge between two sections of the asteroid-city's walls. He followed the turian into the building, surprised a bit at the size of it. And the fact that there were a bunch of other people there.

"Lemme introduce you to my crew," the turian announced, voice drunkenly theatrical as he spread his arms wide towards the hodge-podge bunch of people in the apartment living room.

"Melanis," he pointed at a human woman with nondescript features, then "Ripper," at an asari who was lounging on a couch with her legs thrown over its arm and a pistol strapped to her hip as she read a datapad. "Butler, and Weaver," he finished, waving vaguely at the two remaining people in the room.  
James waved slightly in response to the array of nods and speculative glances.

"Nice shirt," Butler said, grinning widely at him.

"Thanks," James replied absently, rubbing a knuckle against his bare solar plexus as he glanced around.

The turian also pointed out a Batarian tech expert Vortash who was upstairs fiddling with something, and a Salarian named Sensat who came in from the kitchen, who may have been in the STG at one time, though, it was explained sarcastically, that reports were sketchy on that and might have been misinformation put out by said STG to throw people off. Which basically made it fact. 

"Hey where's Grundan and Sidonis and-,"

"And Erash, Monteague, and Mierin? They're all doing that _thing_ ," Ripper the asari responded, rolling her eyes, "with the _stuff_. You remember," she added with a significant look at the turian, then a flick of the eyes at Vega.

"Riiiight," the turian said, ignoring the significant looks. "I'm thirsty. You thirsty?" he asked James with an aimless gesture of one arm.

"Always. And what do they call you?" 

The turian laughed, turning towards the kitchen. For a moment, he thought he wasn't going to get a response.

"Archangel," Weaver said for him, laughing.

James squinted over his shoulder at the turian in the kitchen as he hummed off-key and grabbed another beer from the fridge. He thought he recognized the song… "fire in the courtyard"

"Heeeey Sensat," Archangel called from the kitchen. The salarian crossed his arms and glanced back at the kitchen.

"What?" came the short reply.

"Pull up some stuff on batarian slave ships," Archangel called, voice muffled by the refrigerator.

"Shit, and here I thought you'd finally gone and gotten yourself a date!" Butler called after the turian, earning himself a sharp bark of laughter.

"Hey, maybe he did. Killing batarians is always good foreplay if you ask me," Ripper said with a leer.

"Well shit, then we're well on our way to a good fuck," James replied with the ribald humor of a marine. It got a startled laugh from Butler and a huge smirk from the rough-edged asari.

Archangel. That meant something… somewhere in his brain. But James was more interested in watching the salarian as he headed over to a vidscreen and pulled up some port data for Omega. 

"Excellent suggestion. Slaver attacks increasing in frequency," Sensat said, tapping away at the screen.

James wasn't sure he'd heard a _suggestion_ … but then, Archangel had said he had a _crew_. And a reputation for being tough on scum. Oh right. That's what his memory had hinted at. The name Archangel was synonymous with badass. And poetic justice.

And they were going to fuck up some slavers. Vega grinned ferally at the thought. 

Ripper tossed her datapad aside and swung her legs down, leaning on her elbows as she watched the info scrawl across the screen with interest. 

Melanis gave up any pretense of the board-game she was playing with Weaver and moved over to one of the couches near the screen.

"There," the salarian added with a final tap to the screen. "List of possible targets."

Archangel came out of the kitchen, handed James a beer. They cracked the bottles together then both tipped back a healthy gulp. Archangel glanced at the screen and moved over to look at Sensat's findings.

"Him. Kron Harga," he said. "We're gonna take him out." 

"All right!" Ripper said, smacking a fist into her palm like a krogan did before a charge. Actually looked pretty intimidating, even on an asari, considering the lethal grin that crossed her features.

"Any particular reason?" Melanis asked.

"Yeah. Definitely," Archangel said with a low laugh. Then he turned to look over his shoulder at her, smirking.

"Because."

_________________

When he jolted awake, Vega was momentarily confused about why he was crouched behind a storage container, but then he remembered it was part of the plan. The turian next to him had prodded him in the ribs with the barrel of his weapon, snickering.  
He gripped the borrowed assault rifle in his hands and checked the clip by habit.

"Look, Captain Harga has specifically ordered that these be delivered to his cabin immediately," Melanis said, though her voice was muffled through the container wall. As it turned out, the nondescript human woman was an infiltration expert, a champion at being just perfectly mundane.

James squinted up at the security bots floating around the dock. One by one they winked out as Sensat went to work on a console around the corner. He could get every system down except the manual lockdown that could be initiated at the airlock door. That's what Melanis was for.

And damned if she didn't work like a charm, rambling on about regulations and docking fees until the batarian on the other side of the door let out a disgusted sigh, releasing the main door to the docking bay.

As soon as the doors slid open he heard a bloodthirsty shriek as Ripper leapt out from her hiding place. She glowed hotly purple and disappeared with a whump-pop of biotics, blowing straight through the opening into the airlock. James rolled to his feet, charging after her alongside the other members of the squad. 

Archangel's crew fucking kicked ass, James decided. The fact that _they_ weren't shitfaced and he _was_ probably contributed to their relative awesomeness. But still, they kicked ass, with practiced ease and smooth coordination. James and Archangel helped mostly by staying out of their way. 

They blasted their way through the ship, and most of the squad headed for the slave-pens, but Archangel grabbed James's arm and tugged him towards the captain's cabin. He was holding the bundle Vortash had grouchily shoved into his hands before they left.

Now James realized what it was; an explosive.  
The captains of batarian ships were notorious for locking themselves in the security of their quarters while the rest of their crew were taken out. They often had high levels of security that could be broken, but usually took more time than they were worth to breach.

And Archangel wanted Harga.

So explosives would be a good plan.  
They blew the door in a very satisfying crack and flash, followed by an immediate rush entry, rifles raised and scanning the room for targets. But they were destined to be disappointed. The cabin was empty.  
No, not quite empty, they realized as the smoke cleared. There were a few female slaves chained up in one corner. Humans, batarians, even one thin and worn-looking asari, all of whom they promptly freed. 

But they were too late for one of the women. She was chained to the bed, ligature marks on her wrists and neck. Fresh bruises were layered over old ones. Her eyes were glassy un-seeing slivers. She was bared to the room, skin still blemished with sweat and other fluids that made him colder than ever. Her collar was bolted so tightly it had strangled her. Intentionally.  
Archangel was standing, frozen, staring at the dead woman. For a moment, James almost wondered it the turian knew her, the way he looked at her. His eyes seemed fixed on her hair, a loose tangle of bright red, spread part-way over her face.

James knew that look for what it was then; recognition of a familiar feature, a recollection of a closer loss, a reflection of it in a stranger's form. Every soldier who still had a piece of soul left occasionally saw ghosts in the dead they came across.   
And he was pretty sure whose ghost the turian was seeing, because he could see her too - if only from afar.  
James dragged a sheet over her body with a curse under his breath.

"I really want to kill this fucker," Archangel said bitterly.

"Yeah," James agreed. "Yeah."

But they were out of luck for the moment in the empty room, so they left the cabin to help the others free the slaves. As they neared the airlock they could see the commotion of people being ushered quickly past crumpled bodies of dead slavers. Melanis and Butler and Weaver were guiding them out, handing them data-packs, ration packs, and med-kits, guiding them off into Omega's ubiquitous side-tunnels.

James helped, handing out packets from the bag Butler was carrying.  
Soon they were all gone, stragglers being pushed bodily into hiding places by the three members of Archangel's squad. Their task was to get the freed slaves on the right path and then scatter before meeting back up at their base. They each disappeared with the refugees, casting waves and grins back at their leader and temporary marine squadmate. 

And then there was a sudden silence as the ship was left hollow of its prisoners.   
James turned to Archangel with a grin. They'd fucking done it!   
"You sure know how to show a guy a good time-,"

But then suddenly there was a rush of biotics as Ripper charged up the corridor of the ship.  
"Move!" she screamed, blowing past them in a purple haze of light.

"What?!" Archangel demanded, stumbling slightly under the combination of her biotic wake and his own intoxication.

"Suggest an immediate exit!" Sensat came flying past them, running in the fast graceful leaping bounds down the gangplank that made you realize just how tall salarians really were. "No time to explain!"

And then they understood why, because there was the hollow rip-snap of explosions riccocheting up the ship.

"Shit!" Vega cried, lurching towards the airlock. Archangel was right with him, slapping at the airlock controls behind them as they dove out ahead of the fireball.

But it hadn't worked. The ship ruptured around the partially closed airlock and the bay began to depressurize slowly. The depressurization alarms started going and Vega scrambled to his feet, bolting for the blast doors that were starting to close on either side of the docking port. 

"Come on!" he cried, yanking the turian after him. The doors were closing fast though. Too fast.

Ripper was hauling Sensat after her on the other side of the blast doors to their right, which were nearly closed.

"Go!" she screamed, hurling a wave of biotic energy after them. It slammed into both of them, sending them flying through the swiftly narrowing gap of the other blast doors. James landed flat on his face, rifle jammed painfully into his belly, rough edges scraping his bared skin as he skidded a few feet. Archangel slammed awkwardly into the sharp edge of a post next to him, groaning as he collapsed in a heap and didn't move. The doors shut with a metallic thunk behind them.

There was an inarticulate sound of rage beyond them, and James looked up to see the batarian captain Kron standing in front of them, a human slave who had had the misfortune of choosing this direction to run being dragged back by his collar to the batarian. Harga put the pistol in his hand to the human's head and blew his skull open without even a second thought. The sound had Archangel snapping his eyes open.

James lurched up, freeing his assault rifle and crying out in fury. Harga lifted the pistol towards them.  
On reflex James brought his rifle up and fired a spray at the batarian captain.  
He was still drunk, and his aim on the first shots wasn't particularly good. But he _was_ lucky. Even as he was stumbling awkwardly into a clumsy roll, his spray of bullets hit the canister next to the batarian captain's leg, blowing him sideways in a orange-pink flare of plasma.

It was sufficient. The batarian was screaming wetly as Archangel rolled to his side, dragging himself up roughly by the butt of his rifle. With only one wobble, he stalked over past the dead human, lifting his rifle and aiming it at the batarian captain. 

There was the snap-whine of the rifle firing a round, then the screaming bellow of a batarian. James staggered closer, seeing the carnage around the corner. There was a long trail of slave bodies up the corridor. There was another snap-whine of the rifle as Archangel fired another round into Harga's other leg. This process was repeated with each stalking step the turian made, until he was finally within striking distance of the mostly-dead batarian.

Each of his major organs and limbs now had gunshot wounds, but that wasn't satisfactory for the turian. He raised the butt of his rifle up and slammed it down into the slaver's skull, finishing him with a sickly wet crunch.

______________

They stumbled into Archangel's base and were greeted by a smug looking Sensat and a slightly insane looking Ripper, who was pacing around, still high on the energy of the fight. Melanis had beat Butler and Weaver home and had already changed out of her blood-spattered disguise and was fishing out beers for everyone. 

Ripper yanked one out of Melanis's grasp as the human passed by her, clearly intending to bring some of the drinks to the latest arrivals. Archangel smirked as he took James's rifle and stowed them both in the locker.

Ripper promptly chugged the beer and reached out for the second before she'd even finished the first. The fact that Melanis already had the second outstretched and waiting said volumes.

James moved closer and took the offered drink, grinning at the other two as they clicked their bottles together. 

Sensat moved back to the computer to continue whatever he had been doing before they came in, ignoring the revelries. Vortash was sitting on the stairs looking glum.

"Hey man, thanks for the bomb," James called, raising his bottle.  
Vortash muttered something under his breath and turned to go back up the stairs and over to the bunks.

James shrugged and tipped back the beer, chugging it down like Ripper had, finishing it with a belch. Another one was shoved into his hand as Melanis darted past him and let out a whoop of greeting. He glanced over his shoulder to see Butler and Weaver coming across the bridge. 

"Hey Sensat!" Weaver called as they came into the main room.

"Yes, yes," the salarian replied, closing away his data and opening a new program. The lights dimmed and the screen lit up with a music VI.  
A super-bass digitized voice announced "Fulllllll HOUSE!" before a thumping beat exploded from the computer system and club music began echoing through the facility.

Weaver wiggled fingers in front of the salarian until Sensat rolled his eyes and sighed, acquiescing and lifting his hand to exchange a complicated secret handshake with the human, though James could see the small quirk of a smile on the salarian's face.

"Hey Vega, you're all right," Archangel said, giving him a light punch on the shoulder as Ripper marched into the kitchen and hauled out a case of beer with a slightly manic laugh.

"So what ever did happen to your shirt?" Butler asked.

"I believe that may have had to do with the pole-dancing he was doing when I rolled into Afterlife," Archangel said, sub-vocals twanging with humor.

"Shit," Vega said, grinning.

"So he _is_ your date!" Butler crowed. 

Ripper had started popping the caps off the bottles with little biotic flicks that she chucked at her teammates. James grinned again when one of them bounced off his chest. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she studied his bare chest. Her gaze flicked over to Melanis, and then back to his skin.

"That _is_ a good plan. In fact, I'm choosing that for Ripper's rule. All right bitches, shirts off!" she shouted.  
The order was met with a cascade of groans and people taking drinks, Ripper included, before they all set about stripping off their tops.

"We each get one rule," Archangel explained, reaching for the catches in his armor. 

"Anything goes," Butler added, stripping his grimy shirt over his head and throwing it at Ripper.

"Shit," James said marching over to the asari and appropriating himself another beer, "You guys sure know how to have a good time."

 

_____________

 

He woke to an incessant beeping. It was _really_ fucking annoying - and then he realized that was the point. Every marine had an omni-tool shore-leave alarm, one that could wake anyone who wasn't dead and would bug them until they stumbled their hung-over, shattered ass back to the ship and out of port. He always set one.  
Speaking of asses, though… He cracked an eye open and slapped the alarm on snooze, looking down over his body. 

He was naked. Bare assed naked. And in someone else's bed, given the fact that he didn't recognize the surroundings and the fact that he could feel someone else's body heat pressed against his naked skin.   
He tilted his head over to see the other occupant of the bed.

Yep. Naked too.

" _Qué chingados?_ " he muttered to himself as he gazed at the turian, whose arm was thrown across his stomach and whose legs his were entangled with. The turian's face was buried in the pillow, but James wasn't bothered because he was pretty sure from the way his head was aching that he wasn't going to recognize the guy even if he could see him fully.

His wrist vibrated again and started chiming obnoxiously.  
"Fuck," he said under his breath as he swatted it a second time, but he knew he only had a couple minutes before it would start again. He was one of the marines who had his set up so he could only disable it once he was back onboard. Experience was a good teacher, that one. Didn't mean it wasn't fucking inconvenient when you woke up next to a naked turian you didn't plan on waking before you left.

Slowly he slipped sideways till he broke contact and could get to the edge of the bed. The turian made a low rumbling sound and rolled into the space where his body had been, snuggling deeper into the sheets. He caught a flash of blue clan markings as he swayed up onto his feet, but it didn't jar any memories free, and his head threatened to hurt just for trying. 

His pants were on the edge of a desk across the room. He dragged himself over to them, yanking them on quickly. They seemed more or less intact, though he noticed some blood spatter on them when he squinted down at them.   
His boots were near the door. Bracing himself against the frame he shoved his feet into them and glanced around, pressing a hand to a faintly aching rib. 

He had a sinking feeling that he was going to have to endure a serious walk of shame and the brunt of Gilmore's teasing when he returned to the ship. Because the room held no other articles of human clothing. He glanced down at his bare chest and rubbed a knuckle over his belly, pondering.

Where the fuck was his _shirt_?

 

_____

"Well."  
"Good talk."  
They both spoke simultaneously, jerking upright from the positions they'd been frozen in as memories had come back to them. They each turned and went opposite directions, more or less chosen at random.   
But then Vega paused. 

"I never fucking found that shirt you know."

And Garrus turned back, smirking at him. James snickered, and then Garrus chuckled, and then both of them were bent over with full-on belly laughs, gripping railings and galley-counters to steady themselves. They laughed until their sides ached and James had to brush away tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Shit," James said, shaking his head. "We make a pretty good team."

"Yeah," Garrus replied. "Yeah we do."


End file.
